The Last Black
by Diamondflame
Summary: How was he supposed to know that he was not alone in mourning the loss of a man who had been like a father to him? How was he supposed to know that in truth, the last Black…..lived?
1. Default Chapter

Title: The Last Black  
  
Author: Snowkat88  
  
Summary: How was he supposed to know that, in truth, the last Black lived?  
  
Disclaimer: As much as I would like to believe these characters were mine, the credit goes to the amazingly talented JK Rowling for anything you recognize.  
  
A/N – this first part is rather short; it's just kind of an introduction for the rest of the story. The next part will be up shortly – in the meantime, please leave comments, but while constructive criticism is welcome, no flamers. Thanks – hope you enjoy! (  
  
Prologue  
  
For once, the sound of voices shouting in the distance did not bother Harry Potter. For once, he did not hear them and wish to be somewhere, anywhere else. He was content to lie there in his bed, aimlessly staring up at the ceiling, ignoring the nearby row between his so-called family, in his so-called home. But, he was content to have it that way.  
  
For once.  
  
Night fell, but Harry did not notice. He was absorbed in his thoughts, though if you were to ask what they were about, he would not be able to answer. He would not know himself, but for the fact that they all would somehow connect back to Sirius. And after telling you this minor bit, he would break eye contact, not wanting you to see the tears glistening behind the coldly shielded green emeralds.  
  
How was he supposed to know that he was not alone in mourning the loss of a man who had been like a father to him? How was he supposed to know that in truth, the last Black.....lived? 


	2. Lonely

Title: The Last Black  
  
Author: Snowkat88  
  
Summary: How was he supposed to know that, in truth, the last Black lived?  
  
Disclaimer: As much as I would like to believe these characters were mine, the credit goes to the amazingly talented JK Rowling for anything you recognize.  
  
Chapter One: Lonely  
  
There is a difference between being alone and being lonely, she told herself firmly. And while you may be alone right now, you certainly aren't lonely. You know you could have a friend over anytime, you just don't feel like it. Even so, she blinked furiously, trying to ward away the tears threatening to fall.  
  
Rolling over on her bed to flip on the radio, her gaze fell onto the picture on her nightstand, featuring her mother and a man she had never met, but who she had dreamed over every night. Stubby, her mother had told her, five years ago when she had first showed her the photograph. That was all she had to go by, that was all she had for a father in the world: two syllables, Stubby. Hardly even a real name. That and the fact that he and her mother had met fifteen long years ago in a bar, spent the night together, and never heard from each other again. Some father.  
  
That's not really fair, she scolded herself internally. You do have Rob.  
  
Yea, but he's not the same, her other half argued. He's not your real dad. And, she thought, raising her eyes to face her reflection in the mirror, her wide, startlingly green eyes gazing back at her somberly, this isn't your real family.  
  
"Sam!" her mother shouted from downstairs, where she, Rob, and their two children were already gathered. "It's dinner time!"  
  
"I'm not hungry, Mum," she called back, ignoring the stabs of pain shooting through her empty stomach. Footsteps padded lightly up the stairs in response; she had known her mother wouldn't accept that as an excuse.  
  
"Sam?" Lydia Brady stood in the doorway, facing Sam's backside as she lay curled on the bed, still staring into the mirror. "Sam, what's wrong? You haven't been yourself for a while now."  
  
"It's nothing."  
  
"Well, where's Jackie, or Liz? I don't think there's been a Friday night in the past five years that one of them hasn't been here, or you over at one of their houses." Sam paused, still not making eye contact.  
  
"They're all at the father-daughter dance up at the high school." Trying to keep her voice steady and strong, trying to brush aside the sense of barrenness inside her.  
  
"Oh, honey," her mom walked over to the bed, sitting on its edge by Sam's feet. "Why didn't you tell us? Rob would have taken you."  
  
"Rob's not my father, Mum, as much as you'd like to think he is."  
  
"He cares about you a great deal, you know. The dance would have meant a lot to him."  
  
"Well, he'll get to go with one of those two, anyway, won't he?"  
  
"Don't speak about your sisters that way!"  
  
"They aren't my sisters."  
  
"My God, Sam, how many times do we have to go through this?"  
  
"Why did you have to marry him anyway, Mom?" she asked painfully, turning to face her. "Was I not good enough for you? Cuz I thought we had things going pretty well by ourselves...and then he has to show up."  
  
"I will not tolerate you speaking about your father that way, Samantha."  
  
"HE'S NOT MY FATHER! My father is a man who you spent one night with, and then forgot!!"  
  
"That's not true, Sam – I tried to find him, for your sake-"  
  
"You don't even remember his name, Mum! You don't even remember his name."  
  
"I-" But she trailed off, staring incredulously at the window behind Sam.....Sam slowly turned, afraid to see what it was. Upon doing so, she let out a shocked gasp.  
  
She had left her window open that night to encourage a breeze in the otherwise stuffy summer heat; now, on her windowsill, looking quite content with himself sat a large tawny owl, clutching in his claw a yellowing piece of paper.  
  
She did a double take at her mother; was she seeing things? But if she was, then so was her mother.....The owl must have slipped in unnoticed while they were fighting. He now extended his foot impatiently, apparently waiting for one of them to untie the letter. Sam exchanged a glance with her mother before nervously extending her arm and accepting the envelope.  
  
And just like that, the owl was gone.  
  
"I'm not-" she began.  
  
"No."  
  
Hands shaking, Sam turned over the parchment; it was addressed to her. There was her street, her house number, her town; all the way down to her zip code, the information was exact. With just one problem...and in her shocked state of mind, she had nearly missed it.  
  
Though her name was Samantha Brady – she had adopted Rob's last name, as had her mother, when they married – on the envelope, the wiry green script clearly read: Samantha Black.  
  
Her mother's voice broke the frozen silence as they both examined the letter when she spoke, shakily: "Now there's a name I thought I would never hear again."  
  
A/N – there are two different ways I could continue this, I'm deciding between them now – but of course it depends on whether or not I get any feedback. Thanks for reading this far, and remember reviews really make my day...( 


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